


You Feel Like Home

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few of John's thoughts on the matter of home...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Feel Like Home

Not sure when it happened really. Never quite had a home before. When I was a child I was pushed between mum and dad's, aunt Lara and grandmum's place on a regular enough basis that I lived out of suitcases. Then off to boarding school like all good boys. After that was college, then med school, then the army. I was a wanderer. Carl Sagan once wrote "Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are waderers still.". I know i was a wanderer, but my quest was not exploration. I was running. I ran from a broken home to a lonely school. Then from a passion that created debt to a far away land that promised to bear that weight. I even ran from that, hobbled more like it.

I still can't figure out how I ended up here. Not sure if I believe in fate, or an all-knowing being guiding me in the right direction. When I was young i used to wonder about god. Mother made me pray each night to a silent one. Was he silent because he was listening, or were my requests to petty to require his attention? I stopped praying, and started begging around the age of ten. Dad had lost his job at the factory and taken on the full time position of inquisitor and punisher. I begged god to stop the fighting, the nights of drinking, and the bruises that played along my mothers skin like water colors. I stopped capitalizing the word god then. If the word man is written in lower case and he caused so much pain then why would a creator who refused to lift an almighty hand to help the frail deserve any more.

So when I sit here in my chair as the sun begins to rise and dance upon the tiles of the kitchen wall I wonder. How did I get to be here. When did this begin to feel like home. I could ask myself why did it take my whole life to get just one home when most others go through them like so many cards in a deck. But as I breath deeply and the steam rises from my cup the question in the front of my mind is much simpler, yet exponentially more important. I put down my newspaper, look across the room at the halo that has become of your dark hair and ask myself how I got so lucky to finally find my way here.

I used to daydream about my perfect home. What it would look like, how it would sound, even how it might smell. Never during those lapses from reality did I imagine anything like this. This place is something I would have never thought up myself. A hodgepodge of science and comfort. Blackberry jam nestled up to set of blood samples. The sound of small explosions, gunfire, and then a soothing melody being pulled from a beautiful instrument. Paradoxical life. That's what i have. And how I love it.The chaos of the chase followed by the warmth of the fire. The unruly demands you push upon me in the field balanced by the look in your eyes when I make you smile.

I used to spend lonely evenings on the top stair listening to the haunting melodies you play late at night. I would sit alone and let the music take me away. I told myself that if something so beautiful could be so sad that perhaps my sadness was just beauty measured by a lacking system. I told myself that people like me were meant for the top step in the dark in the middle of the night. I promised that this was the best way to stay safe. But eventually safety, like all other worthy ventures became boring. I itched for danger, a challenge, a way to prove to myself that I was alive. I was born into danger after all, everything I remember of my life barely hanging on by a thread...

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued, have to go to work,i have no beta, so be kind


End file.
